


Lovefool

by marinoxx



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, Breathplay, Drama, Face-Sitting, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Keith Will Be Loved - a song by Maroon 5, M/M, Mild Degradation, Oneshot, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Pining Shiro (Voltron), Pure and Unadulterated Raunch, Shiro is a flawed and guilty man, Spanking, if it aint angsty it aint me!, only a lil tho, the raunchiest thing ive ever written actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-23 12:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10719255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marinoxx/pseuds/marinoxx
Summary: Alternatively titled,Let's Talk About Sex.Shiro agrees to be Keith's b.u.d.d.y. after a drunken fling. It's a terrible idea, having relations with someone you have feelings for. Keith drags him straight to hell.A commission work from my Tumblr.





	Lovefool

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, friends.
> 
> This is a big divergence from my last post, and not something I would have chosen to write myself, but I think that's a good thing. You know, expansion of the creative horizon and all that. It's better to be versatile. I hope it's not worse, just different lol.
> 
> I have a multi-chapter commission to do next, so I hope I can make real progress on that soon.  
> Leggo!

“Keith,” started Shiro, chancing on a clear thought in the milky haze of his mind. “It. Is late.”

Keith rolled his shoulders back against the seat of Shiro’s leather sofa, let his knees bump the glass top of the coffee table. Shiro couldn’t remember how he got on the floor, over there. He couldn’t remember how he himself got on the floor. Keith just giggled at him instead of getting up.  “You just...realizing that?”

How did they get here again? He recalled Keith showing up at about six. Oh, right. The DVD.

Keith had come to fetch his copy of _Basic Instinct_ for movie night at Lance’s on Friday. At least, that was the plan, until the sky had opened up and Keith was stranded at Shiro’s apartment without an umbrella to get back to the station.

 _Don’t you have an umbrella?_ Well, yes, usually, but Shiro had left it at work. _Guess I’ll just have to wait it out_. Yes, that was better. Shiro would like that very much.

And so they’d popped the movie in, Lance be damned, and Keith had raided Shiro’s pantry for alcohol, looking more than a little disappointed when all he’d found was half a bottle of vodka and a twenty-four pack of wine coolers, because _what are you, Shiro, a middle-aged woman?_ He wasn’t the only one over the hill. Keith had decimated those things. Shiro did warn him they tasted good, but watch out, since enough of anything would get you tipsy. Keith responded to that by drinking _thirteen_ of them and getting absolutely sloshed. And Shiro apparently couldn’t take his own advice, because he’d passed his own limit about three drinks ago, ignoring the flashing signs over his self-controls that said _do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars_. Keith lobbed the last one at him with poor aim, giggling again when it slapped against Shiro’s chest. Shiro picked it up and pressed the cool glass against the heated skin of his neck.

“It’s...so late,” Shiro said. Hadn’t he said that already? It didn’t matter. Nothing did with a buzz this nice. “You want me to get you a cab home?”

“Mm. It’s still raining.” Keith decided to forsake the couch entirely and slid down to the ground, kicking off his red high tops and rolling over to observe Shiro through the coffee table. The labored groan he made as he stretched washed over Shiro like honey. That was admittedly Shiro’s near-daily reaction to Keith, though; he couldn’t blame it on the alcohol. A groan of his own escaped his throat before he could stifle it. Shit, he was really drunk. Keith was too busy restarting the movie again to hear, his attention glued to the TV where Sharon Stone was brutally murdering her rockstar boyfriend for the umpteenth time. It was rare to see Keith totally unwound like this, relaxed enough to tie his hair up and lounge around on the carpet. Shiro was fixed on the gentle swell of Keith’s hip under the loose material of his sweatpants. Shiro found Keith gorgeous any day of the week, but the alcohol was definitely making him a little loose.

People often said that falling in love could be as easy as falling asleep, but Shiro always thought it to be more like waking up. It had been a slow, unpretentious transfiguration of his consciousness. He hadn’t even realized it had happened until a year after they first met, on the day of his graduation from university. The others--most of them freshmen, back then--bought him a cake and sat him down in the dark of Lance and Hunk’s shared living room. Keith stole his cap almost immediately. _It doesn’t matter if it’s your birthday or not_ , he’d said from behind the tassel as Allura lit the candles. _Just wish for something_. Shiro wished for Keith before he knew what he’d done. It had been a waste of a wish anyway; Keith wasn’t available, at least not to him. Maybe that’s why Shiro slept around so much in college--it wasn’t desperation so much as his trying to console himself. And yet he’d wished the same on his real birthday, two months later, and on the shooting star he saw a few weeks after that.

He selfishly thought he might get that wish after the car accident that took his arm, that made him a murderer, no matter what his friends or the police reports said. The personal loss might have been worth it, were it some sort of karmic exchange. Your right arm, for him. Shiro would have taken that devil’s deal in a heartbeat. But that was just fantasy, and Shiro had just imagined that sweet spark behind Keith’s eyes when the bandages finally came off his head. He’d let Keith touch the fresh scar on his face, examine the newly healed part of his scalp where the hair had started to grow in white.

 _I’ll probably dye it back_ , he reassured when Keith’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t want to make Keith any more uneasy than he already would, now that he was missing a hand and more.

 _Don’t_ , was Keith’s response. _It looks good on you._ And then. _Let me know if you want to get fitted for a new arm. We can do it together, if you want._ Keith.

Shiro had to be really, _really_ drunk to be thinking about all this.

Maybe he could drown it with some more libation. He cracked open the bottle he’d had against his neck and took a long draught. “You sure you don’t want a taxi?”

“You just asked me that,” Keith murmured. He’d stopped snickering a while back. Now Shiro could see he was staring, long and hard, half-hidden behind the barricade of the coffee table with all the assurance of a jaguar stalking his prey from a thicket of reeds. Keith pushed himself up onto all fours, crawling around the table. Shiro wasn’t certain what he would have done with a clear head, but in this state he could only watch in slow motion as Keith boldly closed the distance between them, move his legs obligingly as Keith spread his knees. He wasn’t sure if this was reality anymore. If it wasn’t, if it was some kind of wet dream, then this was asking too much.

Shiro held that predatory stare as Keith maneuvered himself between his thighs. “Don’t you have class in the morning?”

“Whatever,” Keith said, taking the bottle from Shiro’s lips and moving it to the ground to be forgotten.

The virtuous Shiro, the one that had feelings for Keith, forced him not to look as Keith unbuttoned his shirt, wouldn't let him watch Keith lower his flushed face and work his teeth down the front of Shiro’s body. The drunken Shiro that knew a one night stand by muscle memory hissed when Keith bit his chest, arched into his mouth when a hickey was sucked into his side. Keith raised his hands to Shiro’s shoulders and heaved himself back up to face level, grinding the obvious erection tenting Shiro’s jeans against his own. Shiro caught Keith’s waist with his one hand and parted his lips to let his tongue in, palm moving down to cup Keith’s ass as he thrust against him.

“You wanna take this to your room?” Keith breathlessly cut in once he was bored of exploring Shiro’s mouth. And just like that, just as the last wave of alcohol hit his brain and the last restraining gates of his libido were blown open, the virtuous Shiro was gone.

Disadvantaged without his prosthetic, Shiro finally managed to pull Keith’s shirt off at the threshold of his bedroom. Keith’s body was already an addiction; it was so _good_ touching him, squeezing his smaller frame, and it was so _nice_ the way Keith swayed against him, whether that was because of the booze or not. Shiro couldn’t care that they shouldn’t be doing this, he couldn’t think about how this was going to affect the two of them once the sun rose, because his blood was singing loud in his ears and Keith’s skin was humming under his fingers. His buzz had since turned low and red-hot. Shiro was electrifyingly horny.

Keith dropped to his knees and grabbed Shiro by the belt loops, dragging him forward and tearing his fly open with his mouth. Shiro’s cock sprang free and Keith eagerly caught it with his mouth-- _was he real?_ “Keith,” Shiro groaned as he disappeared behind Keith’s lips, felt the tip slide down the soft back of his throat. “Keith, that’s so fucking good--”

“Fuck my mouth,” Keith slurred, disengaging from Shiro’s cock with a wet _pop_. “My mouth, then my ass.”

“All right.” Shiro yanked Keith’s hair free from its ponytail at the nape of his neck and gripped a fistful of the strands. “Open up.”

Keith’s lips descended back over his length. Shiro let Keith set the pace for a moment, then held his head steady and let his hips take over. Keith gave a dazed moan and shoved his pants and boxers down as Shiro punished his throat, grabbing his dick with one hand and shamelessly worming fingers into his ass with the other. Watching Keith get off like that was doing a lot for Shiro. He pulled Keith’s head back as soon as he started to peak. Keith’s jaw was slack and his eyes dark and glassy, a long, slick string of precum and saliva connecting Shiro’s dick to his lips. Shiro almost came when he saw that. He coaxed Keith to his feet and pressed him back toward the bed. They didn’t need words for what he was about to do next.

Keith kicked his pants away from his ankles and lay face down on the mattress, shifting his weight up onto his knees and raising his ass when Shiro knelt behind him. Shiro leaned forward over him as Keith reached back and pulled one cheek to the side. He didn't even bother to push down his jeans before shoving inside, savoring Keith’s pleasured gasp. Rearing back, Shiro felt much better, almost giddy, because this was almost _definitely_ a wet dream.

“You’ve got a nice thick cock,” Keith moaned again, voice hitching.

Shiro keened into his ear. This dream Keith knew what to say, how to turn him on. “Tell me about it.”

“I like the way it’s filling me,” Keith rasped. “Fuck me with it ‘til I’m gaping.” Shiro lost himself at that, forgot to hold back, thrusts turning broken and frenetic. Dream-Keith took it all, demanded more, clenched tight around Shiro’s shaft when he met his climax. Shiro dragged the two of them down just before he came, holding the Keith that couldn’t be Keith tight to his chest as he surrendered a little bit of himself inside him.

He figured out it wasn’t a wet dream a few moments later. Fantasies ended after an orgasm. This Keith was still there, still warm, and Shiro was feeling a lot more sober than he’d like to be.

Shiro sensed Keith uncouple their bodies before he even opened his eyes. Keith was facing away, still breathing hard. His lips were probably pressed firm if only Shiro could see them. Shiro suddenly had half a mind to hook Keith by his tiny waist and drag him back into his domain, tangle their legs together and smother him senseless with kisses and aftercare. He would have done it already, if he weren’t unsure that Keith would let him. Wouldn’t he, though? Shiro wanted to try. He wanted to try so much it hurt.

But Keith was already rolling out of his bed, diffused light from the streetlamp outside the window cutting orange shapes over his skin as he pulled on his sweatpants. He was the effortless kind of sexy, the thankless kind of beautiful, and the piercing kind of indifferent, the kind that didn’t want Shiro the way Shiro wanted him. Right. Of course.

It didn’t matter how many times Shiro dreamed of touching Keith with his phantom hand, nor how much they did or didn’t have in common, nor how hard Shiro tried to make himself easy to love, easy for _Keith_ to love. _He doesn’t want you_. And Shiro didn't deserve him. He would have been wise to remember that from the start. Even at this late hour, he couldn’t stamp out that little, glowing ember of hope that bedeviled him so, the one that whispered _what if_. And it was still sputtering there, still crying _maybe_ as Keith doused it with cold water, and Shiro wasn’t sure if he could cope.

Shiro sat up and smeared the back of his hand across his face. “Where…?”

“It’s already five,” answered Keith without turning around. “By the time I get to the station, the metro will be running again.”

“The rain,” Shiro tried, futile.

“It stopped a while ago.” Keith stooped to retrieve his hair elastic from the carpet, his shirt from the doorway. He dressed quietly, never pausing to spare Shiro a glance.

Shiro pressed himself back into the pillow, pulling his knees up to his chest and the sheet over that. “Sorry,” he said, into the gravid silence. By some miracle his voice was even. “I should have used a condom.”

“It’s fine,” Keith puffed, tying his hair back up. “See you later.” Shiro held his breath as Keith paused with one hand on the door’s edge, half hidden in the sordid darkness of his hallway. “It’s just sex, Shiro.” Keith pinned him finally with a condoling stare. “Don’t make it weird.” Like it was as easy as Keith was making it look. It wasn’t hard with other people, but this was more than a little different. Shiro distantly wondered how simple it really was for Keith, how much practice he’d had himself, but the sounds of Keith grabbing his keys from the kitchen countertop and shutting the front door on his way out derailed that train of thought.

Shiro wrapped his arm around himself in a hug and twisted his face into the pillow without getting up to switch off the TV still playing muffled in the living room. He told himself to shove it together. He promised he wouldn’t make it weird.

*

He wouldn’t make it weird, but nothing could stop him from feeling that way. Shiro was half a click past weird and well on his way to uncomfortable by the time he made it to Lance and Hunk’s place for a barbecue that Sunday, a peach-pink house with peeling paint. He was pretty early, but Shiro guessed Lance was home from the loud reggaeton beat muddling through the thin walls of the garage. Shiro was understandably surprised when he hefted up the metal door to find Keith flat on the concrete, trying to get some work done on his red motorbike.

“Hey,” Keith said, squinting at the warm sunlight suddenly flooding the room.

“Hey.” Shiro pulled off his baseball cap and ran a hand through his bangs, trying to get some air to his head. “Where’s Lance?”

Keith shrugged and picked up a wrench. “Taking a nap, probably. He went pretty hard last night. I stayed over to make sure he didn’t torch anything.”

Shiro watched Keith wrestle with the bolt for a while until stepping forward and proffering a hand. “Give me that.”

Keith shot him a doubtful look. “You have one hand less than I do.”

“I don’t need two hands for this,” Shiro replied. Keith handed over the wrench and Shiro checked the strap on his prosthetic before crouching down low and bracing himself on his metal arm. Keith watched from over his working shoulder as the bolt came loose with a sharp twist. “See?”

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be built like you,” snorted Keith, but his mouth had the curve of a smirk.

“No, we can’t,” Shiro agreed. “Which one next?” He fit the mouth of the wrench over the bolts Keith indicated. “Shouldn’t you have asked Hunk to do this?”

“He’s still sleeping too,” Keith explained, crossing his legs and leaning forward. He almost looked sullen, but Shiro knew him better than that. “I just need to replace the sprocket. I can do it myself.”

Shiro smiled to himself. “Can you?”

“Well, I could, if he hadn’t tightened everything to oblivion,” Keith complained, pursing his lips.

“It has to be this tight so nothing falls off while you’re out there speeding around,” Shiro grunted as he loosed the last bolt. “And I’m going to make sure everything’s just as tight once you’re done.” He chuckled at Keith’s dark expression. “Alternatively, you could solve your problem entirely by using an appropriate tool like a torque wrench instead of this thing.”

Keith knocked Shiro with an elbow. “Don’t really see a need for that if I have you around.”

“Yeah,” Shiro laughed. “Yeah, that’s right. I’ll take care of you.” Keith smelled like motor oil and clover. Shiro sat back to face him and noticed the grass stains on his white T-shirt. “Were you lying in the grass?”

“Did you think Hunk and Lance were the only ones taking naps?” That was a yes. Keith was just perfect.

“Just watch where you’re rolling so you don’t get bit up by fire ants.” Shiro plucked at the dirt layering the fabric. “I know you’re allergic.”

Keith’s eyes slid up Shiro’s neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “I could think of a few other things I could get bit up by.”

Shiro nodded at whatever Keith was playing at. “Yeah, probably.”

“Shiro.” Keith’s voice was flat.

“Hm?”

“Are you gonna give me some dick or are you gonna make me beg for it?”

Shiro blinked, twice. “What?”

“It's been five days,” Keith clarified. “Shouldn't you have called by now?”

“No, no that was a one-off,” Shiro croaked, wheeling backward and trying to put some distance between the two of them. “People get drunk and do stupid things, it happens sometimes--that doesn't mean it becomes a habit--”

“But sometimes it does.” Keith pressed towards him. “You shouldn’t have slept with me if you were going to regret it afterward.” He was definitely right about that, but. But. “You’re too nice. You know I know you’ve done this before.”

The numerous notches in Shiro’s bedpost had nothing to do with this. Even if they did, he still wouldn’t want to talk about it. “Keith--”

Keith cocked his head, eyebrows knitted somewhere between disappointed and inquisitive. “Are you trying to tell me you didn’t like it?”

“I definitely wouldn’t try to tell you that,” desisted Shiro, feeling emotionally battered. “But I don’t want a demotion from friend to sex toy.” _Not from you, at least._

“There’s a middle ground,” Keith blunted, meaningfully squeezing Shiro’s calf. His tone would be almost soothing, if he weren’t such a bully. “No demotion necessary. It’s called friends with _benefits_.”

Oh. Oh wow. Shiro was familiar with the concept of a sex friend, he’d had a couple himself, but what Keith was proposing was a little different. He swallowed hard, mouth dry. “What does that entail, exactly?”

“Not much,” Keith replied without releasing his leg. “Things continue as normal. We hang out, do friend stuff. But then we do _other_ _stuff_ , too, when the others aren’t around.”

Shiro shut his eyes and tried to block out the loud music of the boombox over the tool shelf. He had stopped trying to move on from Keith a long time ago. That sort of thing was impossible when they were both in such constant proximity, sharing such a large portion of their social circles. But if he did this, agreed to do what Keith was asking, well. It was close enough to an actual relationship that Shiro might be able to fool himself into thinking it really was one. Whether that would help or hurt his sanity, Shiro didn’t know yet, but their _friendship_ as it were had already suffered some sort of damage, that much was evident. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t end it at any point. And if this was all Shiro could get, the most he was capable of achieving?

He met Keith’s stare and surrendered himself to torment. “All right.”

*

Shiro didn't fuck Keith in Lance’s garage. That was a bit too close for comfort. He fucked him in the shed out back, though, half an hour before the cookout, and again in Keith’s house the next day, and again at home the day after that. They eventually achieved the solid average of twice a week, and Shiro nearly got used to fucking Keith, though not quite. He did get comfortable, however--enough to even let Keith fuck him, sometimes. He did it however Keith wanted, was whoever Keith wanted him to be, and when they were out with the others, Shiro could enjoy some semblance of what they previously had. A quiet life. But there was no insulating the Keith that shared his milkshakes from the Keith that shared his bed. It was a bitter pain, trying to segregate the two, delineate the boundary between things real and things hoped for.

So Shiro stopped agreeing to meet Keith outside a physical rendezvous, made excuses if he invited Shiro to lunch or dinner without their friends, because Keith never wanted him to stay over, was never around for breakfast.

It was easier and quicker for Shiro to acclimate to their sexual relationship if he didn't have to interact with Keith as a friend at all, or at least as infrequently as possible. That was especially true as the nature of their affair evolved on its own, because sometimes, Keith wanted to experiment.

_“I’ve done it before,” Keith coaxed, one hand on his Adam’s apple, one stroking Shiro’s slick shaft. He slid forward in Shiro’s lap, straddling him proper and spreading his knees around his body. “I’ll make you feel good.” His breath was florid, eyes still lidded from his orgasm._

_Shiro looked down at his cock between Keith’s thighs and shuddered, twitching in Keith’s hand. “I trust you.”_

_Keith’s lips spread in a smile. “Make sure you paint me with it when you cum.” Shiro wet his lips and Keith’s fingers closed around his windpipe, forcibly closing his airways as Keith jerked him faster, lips dewy on Shiro’s jaw. His lungs burned. “You there yet?” Shiro wasn’t, but he was out of air. “Come on. Don’t you want to cum for me?” Shiro’s vision went black as he peaked, the high of his release thrusting him into the outer layers of the stratosphere. He didn’t remember falling back to Earth, but he must have, because there was Keith’s chin and chest in front of him, enameled with white._

_Keith dragged a finger through the mess. “I told you I’d make it good for you.”_

And sometimes, Keith could be a little selfish.

_“Don’t stop,” Keith was begging. “Just like that, Shiro, keep going--”_

_Shiro locked his elbow over the juncture of Keith’s hip and thigh and held him still, nose buried in the cleft of his ass. Keith wantonly ground down over his face as Shiro teased him with the tip of his tongue, flicking back and forth over the pucker of his entrance. He wailed low, voice breaking over a gasp. Shiro was pressing harder, furiously tracing the letters of his name. It was getting a little hard to breathe with Keith on top of him, desperately trying to fuck himself over Shiro’s mouth, but he would bear it. Shiro wasn’t about to stop until he heard Keith cum with his name in his throat._

Right now Keith was trying to piss Shiro off.

Shiro knew at this point that, however it was that he wanted to behave in bed, Keith was still Keith, and once he’d satisfied his sex drive he was back to his previous habits, eating pints of Ben & Jerry’s on Shiro’s couch and asking him to check his aviation homework. If keeping his freezer stocked with a tub of ice cream was all it took to please Keith, then it was the least Shiro could do for him, this boy that could bend the world to his will, the boy that even let Shiro call him _baby_ sometimes between the sheets. Sex wouldn’t quiet the ache in Shiro’s chest, though, and yet he found himself still trying to soothe it with more of the same, hardly bothering to hide the lipstick marks or love bites under his collar from Keith when he turned up unexpected.

But today? Today Keith had tagged along with Shiro to the supermarket, under the mundane premise of helping a one-armed man with his grocery shopping, and wouldn’t fate have it that Shiro spied him with the produce attendant, way over by the broccoli after he’d asked him to grab spaghetti? He might have ignored it, hadn’t Keith made such pointed eye contact before turning his back, throwing himself into a conversation that sure as hell wasn’t about vegetables. The kid didn’t seem interested, but that much was beside the point. If Keith thought Shiro was going to limply allow himself to be manipulated like that, then Shiro’s dignity was up for grabs, and he was going to damn well draw the line at that. They weren’t yet back in Shiro’s apartment five minutes before Shiro led him to the bedroom, yanked Keith’s pants down and bent him over a knee.

“I told you to count,” he growled, jerking Keith back into place and raising his palm again.

“Four,” Keith clenched out after the resounding _slap_. He didn’t stop squirming, twisting round to challenge Shiro with a brassy grin. “I knew you’d be jealous.”

Shiro ground his teeth. “I’m not jealous.” It was true. Jealousy would require that Shiro was afraid of losing something; Keith wasn’t really his, so nothing was on the line. Envy was inaccurate too, seeing that Keith hadn't had any real sights set on that kid in the produce section.

“You’re mad, then,” Keith grated, jerking sharply. “F-Five.”

“Not angry either,” corrected Shiro, bringing his hand down a sixth time. Even that wasn’t a lie. Shiro didn’t know what to call the emotion flooding him with assertive energy, but anger wasn’t it.

Keith bit his lip, waving his ass after the seventh smack. “I’ve been thinking I should replace you, you know. You’re useless.” Shiro flared and used a bit more force on the next one. Keith just moaned. “You aren’t even good at fucking me. I’ve had better, Shiro.”

“Shut up and count.”

“Ten,” Keith hissed, sucking his breath. That one would purple, but leaving a mark had been Shiro’s intention. “No… nine.”

Shiro didn’t feel bad at all. “This makes ten.” Keith cried out at the last, cock hard against Shiro’s leg. Shiro had known that would happen, but he was frustrated all the same. “Take off your shirt and pants and get on the bed.”

Keith did as he asked, but didn’t take off his shoes, the same high tops he always wore. That was fine. Shiro liked them, liked the faded red. Keith's mouth was still running. “Am I supposed to be scared or turned on?”

“Your choice,” said Shiro, pushing the bottle of lube against Keith’s chest. “Get yourself ready.”

Keith glared at him through the thick drape of his hair. “Make me.”

Shiro shoved him down after a beat, pouring lube over Keith's splayed fingers still hovering in the air. Something resembling surprise colored Keith's face as he took those fingers and moved them to Keith's ass, guided them in, drove them rhythmically in and out. “Keep going,” Shiro warned, getting undressed. Keith didn't test him on that.

“You're not smiling today,” Keith lipped, wrist bobbing underneath him as Shiro got a condom on. “I wonder why that is.”

Yielding now was out of the question. “Are you going to give me something to smile about?”

“I haven't decided yet.”

Shiro didn't usually have trouble keeping his composure, but Keith intended to wear him threadbare. The need to dominate Keith was roaring vehement in his ears, flowing metallic over his gums. Dominate? Discipline. Punish? Teach. Shiro yanked Keith up by the arm and walked him meaningfully across the room, forcing his face and chest against the wall. He still had his arm on, which meant he could pin Keith with his silver elbow as he gripped his hips with his left hand. Keith suppressed a whimper as he was lifted onto the tips of his toes, Shiro penetrating him without allowing him a second’s reprieve.

“See what I mean?” Keith mocked with a stuttering exhale. “You suck at this. You don't even know where my sweet spot is--”

Shiro knew exactly where it was, and hit it on the first thrust, before Keith was ready. Keith’s legs went rubbery and Shiro adjusted the angle to keep him upright. “Wasn't that it?”

“Luck,” asserted Keith, panting.

The obvious response was to pummel into that same spot until Keith gave in, so that was what Shiro did. Keith thrashed at the overstimulation, head knocking against the drywall, but he was too stubborn to submit. Well. If he wanted a fight, Shiro would give him one.

Keith was still provoking Shiro even as he rocketed toward his end. “I fucking hate you.” Shiro wanted to curse him, curse his affections. “This is last fucking time, Shiro, I swear to God this is it.” Shiro wanted to scream. Keith was quaking around him, his mouth hanging open, and Shiro knew he was finished when his eyes screwed shut, when his mouth contorted in a grimace. Shiro dropped him and wrapped his hand around the base of Keith's erection like a vise. Keith choked as he came to a screeching halt, orgasm snatched away. Ah, there it was. Revenge.

“Shiro--”

He raised Keith again, pulling him back onto his cock. Keith pressed his lips together to contain a shout as Shiro dragged over his prostate, fucked him excruciatingly slow. Shiro put his teeth to Keith's ear. “Behave.”

“Don't do that again,” Keith cut out, words coming in a harsh scrape. He was going to peak again soon. Shiro waited for it, ignoring his own needs.

“Don't tell me what to do,” Shiro said as he deprived Keith a second time. Keith fought him tooth and nail, tried to slap his hand away, tried to edge Shiro back inside. It didn't work. “You can cum when you decide to stop being a brat.”

Keith pulled away entirely after the third denial, incensed. “No. I hate that.”

“I thought you hated me,” shot Shiro, seizing Keith by an elbow. He was really feeling his part as the antagonist.

Keith shook him off. “I'm done with you.”

“Liar.” Shiro caught him again by the other arm, spinning Keith around. “Everything that’s come out of your mouth today is a lie. You’re not done, you just haven't gotten your way. Sometimes I have to get my way, too.”

“What exactly _is_ your way, Shiro?” Keith demanded as he struggled. Shiro didn't let him get away. “What is your plan? Are you having fun playing with me?”

“You mean like you just were?” Keith protested loudly as Shiro hauled him close and wrapped both arms around him. “Don't be a hypocrite.”

Keith's voice went raw. “Who is a hypocrite? You wanna talk about hypocrisy, Shiro? Weeks ago you tell me you don't wanna be a sex toy--then you do this?! If I'm not your sex toy then what the hell am I?!”

Shiro couldn't gauge what was in Keith's head, Keith held his cards much too close for that. He wasn't ready to come entirely clean with Keith either, might never be, but he must have hurt Keith somehow to get a reaction like this when the two of them had never had so much as an argument in the years since they'd met. If Shiro didn't give him something, some apology or explanation to make it better, he didn't know what Keith would do, but he could surmise, and his guess wasn't worth the risk. So Shiro extracted just a drop of the love he had, gingerly siphoning it from the vault between his lungs, and loaded it onto his tongue, pressing it firm into Keith's unwilling mouth. Keith didn't want it, but Shiro wouldn't relent. He pushed harder, kissed him fervent and pleading. _Swallow it. Drink it down._ And Keith must have taken the medicine, because suddenly he was rushing forward to meet Shiro, rolling in like the tide and returning his kiss as if searching for more, of which there was none. He looked lost when Shiro pulled back, nails scrambling for purchase on Shiro’s shoulders, eyes dithering latent behind the dense frame of his lashes.

Shiro ruefully allowed himself to smile. “Good boy,” he said, into the curve of Keith’s neck. “Go lie down on the bed again.”

Keith silently backed into the bed and lowered himself over the sheets, never taking his gaze from Shiro even when he swung his feet up onto the mattress. Shiro knelt before him and Keith's expression vaulted as Shiro raised his ankles one at a time, hooking them over his shoulders so Keith’s shoelaces dangled by his ears.

“I,” whispered Keith, seeing Shiro reach again for the bottle of lube.

“Hm?” Shiro lilted, liberally spreading it over his length. “You like it wet, right?” Keith nodded and watched Shiro guide himself in slow this time, holding his breath to keep the pace steady as Keith’s body shuddered. He was a vision like this, from Shiro’s bird’s-eye view, messy hair a blot of ink on the crisp white of the pillow, focus flickering to and away from Shiro’s face, unsure where to look. That was understandable; they’d never done it like this before, face to face. Keith always wanted to reposition when Shiro tried. Maybe it was too intimate. Keith probably felt as vulnerable as he looked.

“Oh,” Keith gasped when Shiro shifted forward under his legs, bending his knees as he was folded in half. “Oh, _Shiro_ \--”

Shiro kept it measured, unhurriedly pumping in and out. This position sent his cock deeper than before, and Keith must like it from the way he was sucking in him in. He had to be fair, though; this was Keith’s reward, and he had to keep it sweet. “Watch your head,” was all Shiro gave in warning before cutting loose, pounding Keith hard and ratcheting up the tempo. Keith threw one arm up to keep himself from slamming into the headboard and the other over his face, hiding his expression as he screamed his pleasure. Shiro knew _exactly_ where to hit, and he was going to drive the point.

“Do you like it?” he cloyed, inches from Keith’s face. “Am I good at fucking you yet?” Keith’s whimper was long and ragged. “Answer me. You want me to do you like this again?”

“I'm gonna--” Keith was barely there. “Shiro, you're making me--”

“I'm making you _what?_ ” Shiro mouthed it airy into Keith’s ear, and Keith came sharply, hips bucking uncontrolled into the penetration. Shiro downshifted, easing Keith through it, sucking at his skin after every throaty moan, and--no, _oh,_ he was lapsing--feeling every pulse from Keith, feeling such _gratitude_ that Keith was letting him do this to his body. Shiro heard himself purring into soft skin, knew he was losing his grip, but it was done, it wasn't just sex, he was making love to Keith, and he could only pray he didn't notice.

“Shiro.” Keith laid a hand on his neck and Shiro peaked hard, burying his face against Keith's chest and gently grinding into him through his climax. He lay there bonelessly until Keith rose: that was a practiced routine. Keith stumbled to the dresser and supported himself with his hands, just shy of bowlegged. Shiro saw cum running down his thigh and thought it was Keith’s own until he looked down. The condom was broken. He’d come inside.

Shiro dragged a hand over his face. “Keith…”

“It's fine,” Keith said, without looking away from himself in Shiro’s mirror. He favored that phrase.

Shiro forced himself to get up, to recover Keith’s clothes from the carpet and bring them to him, because Keith didn't look like he could do it himself. “Are you okay?” Keith didn't immediately respond, and Shiro was suddenly acutely aware of just how naked the two of them were. Keith was absolutely bewitching, standing before him in the fading light and shrouded in his post-orgasmic glow. Shiro might never make sense of the lithe lines of Keith’s body, or the impossible color of his eyes--especially now, such a violet-blue. A modern day Elizabeth Taylor. Shiro would hold the world in his hand if Keith would just let him kiss him right now. _Baby, please._

No, not a chance, not again, because Keith was taking his clothes, brushing past Shiro--“It’s fine. I'm fine”--and heading for the bathroom, after which he would make a beeline for the door, leaving Shiro there, alone, again, in his bedroom still full of the heady scent of sex. The scent of Keith. It was too much to ask and too much to bear.

Shiro didn't want to do this again.

*

“What kind of pizza do you want?” Pidge was directing the question at Shiro, punching in the phone number for the pizza shop.

Shiro sank his toes into the threads of her green shag rug and started to recount his chips. “Hawaiian.”

“Ugh,” she gagged. “Allura, what about you?”

Allura didn't answer until she'd finished shuffling. She'd changed her hair sometime this week, swapping out her usual periwinkle sew-in for powdery white box braids. Shiro thought it looked pretty good. “I'll share the Hawaiian.”

Pidge indignantly pulled her alien print blanket tighter and pressed the phone to her ear to order. “Disgusting.”

The first Saturday of the month. Poker night. Usually a pretty large congregation with all seven of them around the dinner table, but tonight Lance had a ‘hot date’ (probably a lie) and Coran was over with Hunk for some emergency work on the timing belt in his beat-up old Volkswagen. That supposedly left four for this week’s round at Pidge’s place: Shiro, Pidge, Allura, and Keith, but Keith was nowhere to be found when Shiro turned up-- _he said he forgot something and left just a minute ago. You didn't see him?_ Shiro was awash with a mixture of disappointment and relief. He probably needed the space, anyway. He could relax and let Pidge do some maintenance on his arm after the round. It would be a quiet night.

Or so he thought.

“So how’s Keith?” Pidge wanted to know once the pizza arrived, pushing her glasses up with a finger and peering at Shiro over a slice of broccoli chicken.

Shiro shrugged and opened his and Allura’s box. “Don't ask me. I haven't seen him for like a week and a half.”

“You said before that you called each other every day.” Allura raised an eyebrow as Shiro passed her a plate. “Don't you?”

“No,” Shiro said, picking up the deck and assuming his role as dealer. “Not recently.”

Pidge caught the cards as they came. “Well. I'm Keith's best friend, so obviously the person to ask for advice concerning him is me.”

“I thought Lance was his best friend,” confuted Shiro.

Allura wore a dubious frown. “I thought it was Shiro.”

“No,” Pidge asserted, jabbing a finger at the two of them, “no, it definitely isn't Lance and it sure as hell isn't you. It's me. I know him better than anyone.”

“Okay.” Shiro didn't exactly have evidence to the contrary.

“I know him better than anyone,” reiterated Pidge, “so I know you have a couple questions for me at this trying time of year.” Allura was staring at him, questioning, but Shiro was equally lost.

“I do?”

Pidge leveled him with a knowing look. “Valentine’s Day is coming up, Shiro.”

“We both know Keith hates that holiday,” cried Shiro, slapping his cards down, “so what on earth are you getting at?!”

“Are you saying we should throw another Anti-Valentine’s party like last year?” Allura asked, touching up her purple lipstick.

“No.” Pidge calmly pilfered another slice of pizza. “This is what I'm saying. Shiro, you make pretty good money. Thank you for the pizza, by the way, I used your credit card--”

“The point, Pidge,” Shiro interrupted with a sigh.

“--anyway, you can afford it, so I think you should buy Keith something…expensive.” Pidge gestured vacantly. “Like, a car, for example, so he doesn't kill himself on that stupid bike--”

“What are you talking about?!” demanded Shiro. “You want me to buy Keith a car?”

Pidge looked at Shiro like he was the crazy one. “Haven't you been dating?”

Allura choked on the crust of her pizza. “What?!”

“No!” Shiro reeled in shock. “God--no, Pidge, what--”

“But he’s always over at your place late at night,” Pidge maintained. “And whenever he says I can't come over it's because you're there!”

“We’re--we’re not dating,” Shiro explained, trying to compose himself. “We’re just…”

“You're just _fucking_.” Shiro couldn't say it, but Allura knew. Her eyes were wide as she shook her head. “Oh no, Shiro, _no_ \--”

“No.” Pidge was shaking her head at him too, in disbelief. “No, you didn't. You aren't.”

“Don't look at me like that,” said Shiro, shoving more pizza into his mouth. “It was his idea. And it's not like I was hiding it. You just never asked.”

“But you _like_ him,” Allura lamented, hands clasped in prayer. “You like him, Shiro, you can't just _do_ that!”

Shiro looked at her in horror. “I never told you that.”

“You didn't have to!” Pidge’s eyes were screwed shut. “Shiro, you idiot!”

“Okay, I'm an idiot,” huffed Shiro, tired of hearing these women uttering his name like a curse. This conversation was over. He wasn't even planning to sleep with Keith again. “Can we get back to the game?”

“No, the game’s over,” Pidge declared. “Allura, you can stay if you want. Shiro? Go home and think about what you've done.”

Shiro narrowed his eyes. “You’re gonna kick me out after I bought you pizza?”

“I know you don’t care about the pizza,” replied Pidge, rolling her eyes.

“Great,” Shiro gritted, standing to get his sweatshirt from the countertop as Allura collected the chips. “Just great. The whole family hates me.”

Pidge turned in her chair as he passed. “I don’t hate you. And neither does Matt, I know he’s told you that a thousand times.”

“He should, considering that it’s my fault he’s still in physical therapy,” Shiro countered, pulling on his hoodie. “He’s just a nice guy.”

“You’re a nice guy too,” argued Pidge. “Accidents happen. You driving doesn’t make it your fault. And Matt always says he’d rather deal with his legs than lose an arm, and have to change careers--”

“Is that what this is about?” Allura finally spoke. “I’m not judging you, but is that--is it anxiety Keith’s helping you with?”

“ _No_ ,” Shiro stressed, worn thin by their interrogating. “Absolutely not. Pidge, air traffic control is a great job, so don’t think I’m put out by that. Allura, this shit with Keith doesn’t help my stress at all, and I know I shouldn’t be doing it, but he asked, and it’s just. Just.”

“If you’ve got him, there’s nothing else.” Allura finished the thought for him. Shiro’s eyes closed and his strings went slack as if he were a marionette.

“Yeah.”

Pidge exhaled in surrender. “Go home, Shiro. Get some rest.” He knew she wanted the best, and she was probably in the right telling him to leave, so home was where Shiro went.

He took a shower, took a nap, and it was still late Saturday night when he woke up, so Shiro headed to the kitchen and turned on the TV so he could watch the news while he made a smoothie. There was a knock on the door just before he hit the switch on the blender.

“It’s open,” Shiro called, without pausing to think who it could be. There was probably only one person. His suspicions were confirmed a moment later, when that person stepped in. Keith. Shiro felt oppressively sweet.

He was probably here for sex, Shiro knew, but no amount of logic could contest how happy he was to see Keith, who closed the door after flipping on the entrance light. Shiro smiled encouragingly at him and Keith came to him, pressing in close on his good side. The side Shiro wanted. He wiggled his hand under Keith’s shirt and let it rest on his hip, holding him there and using the limited mobility in his prosthetic arm to switch the blender on. Keith stayed still, watching the blades pulverize the fruit, until Shiro let go of him to unplug the machine and twist off the lid.

“Why didn’t you tell me you slept with Allura?”

Shiro immediately stopped pouring, glass half full. “What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me,” Keith repeated, “that you slept with Allura?” His pupils were black pinpricks in the sky of his eyes.

“Because it has nothing to do with you.” Shiro could feel the eggshells slicing into his feet. “It was over a year ago, Keith.”

Keith wouldn’t be quelled with that. “How did it happen?”

“Same way it happened with you, I guess,” Shiro said, slowly. “We got drunk and everyone else was asleep. Like I said, nothing to do with you.”

“So you’re just gonna fuck your way through our social group?” barked Keith, hackles raising. “Tell me something, Shiro, how many people do you sleep with per week? Just give me a fucking estimate.”

Shiro rolled his jaw as Keith stalked to his other side. “It’s not my fault if people want to know me. And you have some damn nerve if you came to my place in the dead of night just to ask me that.”

Keith slammed his hand down on the counter. “That’s _not an answer!_ ”

“I’m not going to answer,” Shiro ground out, refusing to acknowledge him. “You need to leave.”

“You know what I came here to tell you?” Keith shouted, scraping his hand back and showing his teeth. “That I’m really _fucking_ tired of your _fucking_ golden boy, Type A personality, and that you can shove it right the _fuck_ up your ass, because you sure like to give other people advice when you yourself don’t have a _fucking_ clue what you're doing!” His hands traced jagged shapes as they cut through the air. “You ain’t shit, Shiro! You _ain’t shit!_ ”

“Yeah, well you could have said that on the phone,” Shiro snapped as he wheeled on Keith. He wasn’t in control anymore, but he didn’t care. Rage could do that to a person. “This isn’t a breakup, Keith, you could have sent a fucking text or some shit instead of showing up at ass o’clock at night when I’m half-asleep like a fucking lunatic!” Shiro let his voice rise until it was straining. “Do you hear me, Keith?! _Get the fuck out!_ ”

Keith was shaking, looking straight at the tile and his _stupid_ red high tops, and Shiro knew it was because Keith had never seen him get angry, or maybe just hadn’t thought Shiro could get angry at _him_. Well, who could blame him? It was new to Shiro, too. “If you really want me to leave then I’m gone, but. But you better not call me again.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Shiro said, tossing the lid of the blender into the sink and relishing the loud metallic _clang_. “I’ve been meaning to tell you this isn’t working out.”

Keith hovered there only a second. “Fuck you,” he finally spat, rubber soles squeaking as he ran from Shiro’s kitchen, front door slamming as he left. Shiro took one sip of the smoothie he’d been making and threw it down the drain. It was sour, or at least tasted like it, nauseatingly so--wait, no, it wasn’t the drink, it was the realization of what he’d just done that was making Shiro sick, now that Keith wasn’t there and his blood pressure was dropping, taking his adrenaline rush with it.

Shiro felt the bile rising and barely made it to the bathroom before he vomited, bent broken and gasping like a fish over the toilet bowl. He screamed in frustration when the retching momentarily subsided--now he was chained there, stuck next to the bathtub when he wanted to be sprinting after Keith. Keith, who wasn’t coming back. That fact conflated with the guilt was like a literal lack of oxygen. Shiro was frantic, he couldn’t breathe--he was puking again, and this wasn’t going to go away.

*

He slept on the floor, in the bathroom, and called in sick to work once the sun came up. Don’t think about it. Right. Back to sleep, in his bed, this time. His ringtone woke him up again an hour later.

Shiro blearily groped for his phone to answer the call. “Hello?”

“Hey.” Who was that, Shiro knew that voice but-- “I’m calling like you said.”

“ _Keith_ ,” Shiro breathed, too relieved for words. “Keith, I’m so _sorry_ \--”

“Me too.” His voice was watery and somehow smacked much more Southern on the phone. Shiro heard him lick his lips through the receiver. “...I thought you had work today.”

Shiro nodded, forgetting Keith couldn’t see him. “I called in sick.”

“Mm.” Keith went quiet again. “I know you want to know why I called.”

“I don’t care why you called. I’m just happy you did,” Shiro whispered, rearranging his grip on the phone.

“Shiro, I,” Keith bit back whatever he had been about to say next. “We’ve been weird. And I know you haven’t wanted to talk to me, but...just listen, okay?”

Shiro was nodding again. “Sure.”

There was the sound of Keith shifting and Shiro realized he was still in bed, too. “You remember when we met, right?”

“Yeah,” said Shiro. “It was summertime. Allura took Matt and I to a show, and he let you guys come with him.”

“Right. I don’t know why he thought that was a good idea. You three were a hundred times cooler than us and honestly still are.” Keith snorted. It was a tired sound. “Anyway. I didn’t have parents like the rest of you. You know because I told you that. But until that summer I really didn’t have anyone to teach me how to function as a person. And then you showed up. I know better now, but you just seemed so well-adjusted and your life so _figured out_ , and I hadn’t really met anyone like that until then, because how could I?”

“Maybe Lance was crazy, but Hunk and Pidge seemed pretty leveled out,” Shiro mumbled. That had been his impression, at least.

“Not like you,” contended Keith. “I relied on you. Not just to motivate me for school, but for other shit, like showing me how to get a part-time job, or how to pay my fuckin’ bills online. You helped me transition into an adult and you didn’t even seem put out by it, you just said you’d take care of me and let yourself become my emotional crutch, and--and I’m saying all this in past tense but you just don’t know what you mean to me, Shiro, you really don’t.”

“Don’t speak as if you used me for anything.” Shiro’s knee-jerk reaction to comfort Keith was more enduring than the shock of hearing him talk about himself for once. “You’re not the only one with an emotional crutch.”

“You don’t deserve to be one.”

“I meant it when I said I’d take care of you,” Shiro supplicated, hoping Keith would understand that it was a plea and not an offer. “I’ll take care of you as long as you want.”

“You know you’re too good to me, right?” Keith was mourning something, it was in his voice, but he was also dangerously, unnaturally calm. “You let an asshole like me walk all over you when you shouldn’t, just because you’re a kind person. I’m really sorry for that too, for taking advantage of you all the time. And I promise I’ll change, Shiro, but it’s gonna be really hard for me to be around you for a while.” _What?_ “I don't know how I'm going to do it yet, but it doesn't matter. I'm deciding that I don't love you anymore.”

“I don't understand,” Shiro said, splintering. “I don't want you to change, Keith. Do you want me or don't you?”

The line was silent. Keith must have pulled away from the phone. Shiro was starting to think he’d hung up when Keith suddenly cleared his throat. “I'll catch you later.”

“Keith,” Shiro attempted, but Keith was gone, replaced by the dial tone. Redialing didn't work, either. He couldn't force Keith to pick up. It was all the answer Shiro needed.

No choice, then, Shiro thought as he checked the time. Rush hour. It would take him at least an hour to brush his teeth, shower, and get over to Keith’s place, even if he took the train. Shiro hoped that was fine, that Keith wasn't already off deciding more things on his own.

He felt like a misty-eyed adolescent, chasing after Keith after all this time. Pidge’s scoff came revolving back. _Idiot_. Wasn't he, though? A fool. Shiro had walked so many times through the prickly garden of Keith, so thunderstruck with having been granted entry that he never stopped to notice the little flowers blooming in his footsteps. A reverie, the way that garden exploded into color; so much so that Shiro had attributed it to imagination. No. Keith was so, _sensuously_ real, and much too headstrong to just tell Shiro something as obvious as his feelings, not when he'd already laid that part of himself out the best he could. _I'm deciding I don't love you._ It was all right to nurture one more hope, foster one more dream. Shiro couldn't help being a dreamer. He was a Pisces, after all.

In the end, it took him an entire hour and twenty minutes to reach Keith’s place, a first-floor apartment all the way across town in a neighborhood that was neither the worst nor the best. The red motorbike was in the lot. Good. Keith never closed his curtains no matter how many times anyone tried to tell him, so around the side Shiro went, and there he was loading the washing machine, hair tied back, wearing the too-short black T-shirt that rode up when he raised his arms. Shiro entered the building and hit the buzzer.

“Who is it,” Keith’s tinny voice wanted to know.

Shiro coughed. “Yeah, I've got a delivery for a Keith something-or-other, you want it or not?”

“Delivery?” Shiro could just see him scratching the nape of his neck. “Whatever. Come on in.”

Into the hallway. Shiro knocked on the wooden door. Keith swung it open for an instant, saw who it was, then slammed it shut again with a rattle of the chain. As expected.

“Keith,” Shiro called, jiggling the knob. “Let me in.”

“Dammit, Shiro! I told you not to come!” Keith was right behind the door, probably backed up against it.

“Not explicitly, you didn't.”

“Well I'm telling you now,” Keith yelled. “I don't want to see you!”

“Yes you do,” Shiro stated. “And I am explicitly saying I _need_ to see you right this second, so open the door.”

Keith wouldn't budge. “You're here to take care of me again. Stop worrying about me! I need to take care of myself-!”

“Keith.” Shiro leaned weakly against the solid wood of the door. “I am here to take care of you. But when I said I wanted to take care of you I didn't mean you couldn't do it yourself.” He twisted the knob again without success. “I was trying to tell you I loved you.”

“Don't try to let me down easy,” Keith said in reproach. “Pity isn't a good look on you. Go home!”

“I'm _serious_ ,” urged Shiro, banging a fist on the wood separating them. “Can you just open up?!”

“But it doesn't make sense!” Keith cried, louder. He was facing the door. “Why the hell would you agree to this, then? Why would you say yes if you knew in the end that it wouldn't work?!”

“I don't know,” Shiro broke as he yanked on the doorknob. “Maybe I thought I could get closer to you! Maybe I just like the emotions you give me! Who cares now? Keith-!” The door was rattling on its hinges and Keith still wasn’t answering. The neighbors were probably worried, too, but Shiro didn't give a damn. “Take whatever you want from me. Take everything, Christ, just tell me who or what you need me to be for you to stay and I'll do it, Keith! Just let me have you!”

Shiro nearly missed what Keith said next. The words were small, hesitant. “What I need is for you to love me full-time instead of part-time.” Shiro had never known relief like this.

“I'll love you overtime,” he murmured, forehead pressed helplessly against the brass numbers of Keith's door. “I promise.”

Another pause. “And no more fucking _freelancing_ , either, and you know what I mean.”

“Keith. Of course.” That much was a given.

The bolt slid open and Keith’s face appeared under the chain as it drew taut. Why was there still a barrier between them? Keith's features warped in alarm as a tear rolled down Shiro’s cheek. “Shiro?”

Enough. “Let me in.” Shiro reached in to try and snap the chain. “Let me _in_.”

“Okay,” Keith said, shoving his fingers out and shutting the door again, and then he was standing there before Shiro, barefoot in the entryway and tipping up his chin for the kiss he knew was coming. Shiro delivered it hard, maybe too hard, but Keith didn't seem to care, pulling Shiro’s face down with both hands as he kicked the door shut behind them. Shiro was nothing if not an overachiever, and overachievers got straight to work.

“ _Thank_ you,” he hummed, muffled against the cushion of Keith’s lips. Keith stepped onto Shiro’s feet for a bit of extra height, toes wiggling over his trainers, hands sliding reverent up his back.

“You smell so good,” Keith groaned, moving his nose to Shiro’s chest and inhaling deeply. “You always smell really good.”

“I'm glad you think so.” Shiro tightened his hold around Keith, keeping him steady. “I ran all the way here from the station.” He helped Keith raise himself higher, layering kisses over his cheek. “I tried to get here earlier. I'm sorry.”

Keith shook his head. “You're even wearing the capris I like. The ones that make your ass look great. Did you do it on purpose?”

“No,” said Shiro, reclaiming his mouth. “But for the record, all my capris make my ass look great.”

“Are you hungry?” Keith broke away to tug Shiro’s metal arm around his waist. “I've got some store-bought pound cake and a bit of milk, you want that?”

“Only if you share it with me.”

“Then we can take a nap if you want,” Keith continued. “But I've got laundry to do afterward.”

Shiro gave the drawstrings of Keith’s cuffed sweatpants a playful tug. “I know, I saw you through the window. I'll help.”

“Then I'm free until dinner.” Keith wound the strings around Shiro’s thumb. “We could play some video games. Or have sex, if you're not tired of that.”

“I can't get tired of that,” replied Shiro, “but we’ll see.”

Keith let his head fall against Shiro’s collarbone. “You really love me, don't you?”

“Yeah,” Shiro admitted. “I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> lordy lord I feel like I wrote the Indy 500 of sex for this. it's time for a nap.
> 
> I have a fanart commission posted for this on my art tumblr so as always let me say:
> 
> Come see me on tumblr at my main @[marinoxxycontin](https://marinoxxycontin.tumblr.com) (an amalgamation) or my ~~slightly inactive~~ art blog @[marinoxx](https://marinoxx.tumblr.com) (art, fic art, and fic updates).


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